


The face of fear

by Murmures1234



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Boromir - Freeform, Boromir is a BAMF, Boromir is a dad, Boromirs dad vibes, Dad Boromir, Faramir - Freeform, Faramir is a BAMF, Faramir's A plus parenting, Implied/Referenced Torture, Poor Boromir, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rangers of Ithillien, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25031446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murmures1234/pseuds/Murmures1234
Summary: What if there was another woman on the battlefield that day that Eowyn laughed in the face of fear? Meet Losseneth- the daughter of Boromir.The tale of her rescue, recovery and growth into a woman every bit as strong and determined as the men in her life.
Relationships: Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Faramir would never forget that day, in the sopping wet November in Ithillien. A day that came after almost 3 weeks of tracking his missing niece through bush and undergrowth, a day when Malbung had finally spotted the girl tearing through the trees. 

“There… there” Malbung had said in almost shock, “Down there.” He said, pointing down the ravine. 

Sure enough, a small, blond human child was tearing down the steep hill to the raging river in front of her. She was barefoot, barley clothed and skinnier than he last had seen her, by a country mile. But still running. Somewhat unsurprising- the skinniness, considering all she had likely been through in the past 3 weeks. But the speed with which she was running was impressive. He supposed fear did that to you. 

It had been 3 hellish weeks for his brother, 3 hellish weeks that Faramir was determined to bring to an end for him, with the return of his beloved daughter, even all the while knowing that wouldn’t make up for the loss of his beloved wife that had occurred at the start of this whole horrific episode for the Hurin family. 

Losseneth was breathing hard. When she first escaped her feet had hurt, but now nothing hurt. She just focused on breathing. Breathing and trying to not fall over. Breathing, trying not to fall over and doing the one thing she’d known from the start she would need to do. Head north. Trying to remember everything, every ounce of information her Uncle had ever told her about Ithillien. Every story. 

Anything that might help her survive this. 

_  
“How do you know which way to travel in the forest?” She asked one night, a long time ago, on a rare evening when her Uncle had finally made it home from the war.  
“The trees, little Losseneth, the moss always grows on the north of every tree.”  
“On *every* tree?” She had asked disbelieving. _

She heard a shout behind her. She didn’t need to turn around, she knew those who had captured her had caught up with her. She carried on jogging but felt like giving up.  
_  
“Not yet”. That voice rang out in her head again. The voice that had started her escape attempt. That stern, commanding voice that had first filled her with a dream of home again. “Keep running little one. There is always hope.”_

She looked up and saw the river. She hadn’t realised how close it was. There was no way those who had caught her would attempt to swim the river. She had to try, she realised… it was her only hope. She put on a final burst of speed. Everything she had left. Panting. She had to make it to the river. She _had_ too. 

She put to the back of her mind that it was far bigger than any time her father, or her uncle had taken her swimming. Put to the back of her mind that it was even bigger than the big seas that her Great Uncle Imrahil had taken her swimming in. Put it all to the back of her mind. 

Faramir realised what she intended to do and started running down the hill as fast as he could, not caring about breaking cover. He wasn’t intending on watching his beloved niece drown. 

Losseneth jumped just before Faramir reached the side of the river. The rest of the patrol were soon upon him. 

Faramir kicked off his boots and pulled his cloak off as quickly as he could. Losseneth was making a valiant attempt to cross the river but she was too tired, weakened by 3 weeks captivity, and the river was raging high, swollen by rain. 

“Throw me a line when I get her,” Faramir said, and jumped. 

Luckily, they’d practised the River crossing and river rescues upwards of a thousand times. Skirting the banks of the river to escape their foes or trap their foes as they so often did, it had been the one of the many things Faramir had been insistent upon when he took the Captaincy. A death by drowning was a waste, in his opinion. He had spent many hours teaching a core group of his men to swim, who had in turned cascaded the training down. A death from the enemy was sad, horrifically so, but an accepted risk. A death from the river was a preventable madness. Faramir knew he could trust the patrol to protect each other on the other side of the river with covering fire and throw the line at the right time. It took less than a minute, but he reached out and was able to grab the now spluttering Losseneth. She panicked, writhing around, kicking, thinking one of her captors had caught her after all. 

But Faramir was stronger, he flipped them both onto their back, wrapping his legs around her tiny body to protect it from the rocks of the river, even at the expense of his own body. His left arm across her shoulders. Waves crashed over their head, and they bobbed to the surface just long enough for Faramir to hear the shout of:  
“Captain… LINE”. 

The rope sailed over his head and he caught hold. They swung rapidly into the side. Losseneth was still struggling but the water was calmer now. Calm enough he could speak into her ear,  
“Calm yourself little one, you’re in Ithillien, you’re safe.” 

In the still of the calmer water at the side of the river, he let go ever so slightly, and her haunted wide-eyed face turned to face him disbelieving. 

A face of safety stared back at her. Her beloved Uncle. A face of home. And suddenly, her little arms were around his body again and she wouldn’t let go. 

They’d gone a long way downstream in the raging torrent. The superior distance his men could shoot had seen off the men who were chasing his niece for now, but he knew they wouldn’t have long, and that they would have to move soon. Not the least because of the cold section of water they were sat in. But his niece could have this moment to breathe and feel safe again before they began their long journey back home, if she was even fit to make it after her ordeal. 

Anborn was upon him first, having been the one no doubt to throw the line. 

“You can pass her to me Captain,” he said, reaching out down the bank. 

The young girl clung tighter to her Uncle with what seemed inhuman strength. 

“Losse, we need to get out of this river little one. You need to let him help you out so I can get out as well. Then we can get you warm and get you home. How does that sound eh? Get you home, mouse? Get you back to your Papa?” 

He made her look at him so she could see he was sincere. Tears were running down her gaunt face, and her lips were chattering and blue. The bruise to the side of her face was visible to him for the first time and filled him with absolute rage, a rage he rarely experienced.

She loosened her grip ever so slightly, and Faramir managed to prise her arms off him just quickly enough for Anborn to grab her. 

“Easy there, little one,” He said softly to her as he lifted her out from the river and deposited her on the bank. She panicked, like a trapped animal before catching the green of the cloak and the friendly face she’d seen when he’d been hiding in the Ranger mess when they’d been home on leave last summer. 

“Anborn?” She whispered, her voice hoarse from… the cold, the terror of the last few weeks, from the silence. 

“That’s right little one,” He said, watching out the corner of his eye as the clearly cold and tired captain climbed out of the river-bank aided by Malbung, Damrod and the others. “We all came for you mouse, chased you all around Lossarnarch to Pelagir, across the river in South Ithillien and then all the way North.”

“Sorry,” she said, her teeth chattering. 

“None of that now,” Anborn said, smiling at her, trying to keep her distracted while Faramir put his boots back on and fastened his cloak around a dry jumper. He could see Faramir instructing the others to see what spare clothing they had between them. 

He took a step towards her, and knelt, trying to become less threatening. “You hungry, mouse?” 

The nod was almost imperceptible against her chattering teeth and shivers. He reached into his pack and held out the wrapped piece of preserved fruitcake they all kept for emergencies. Another change to the team since Faramir had taken the Captaincy. The men had bulked about it at first, but as they stopped losing men to exhaustion and cold fatigue, they’d all listened, and saved their ration of preserved fruitcake. They’d all seen the difference it could make. The men who’d had nothing left to give who suddenly perked up and made it to safety. But he reckoned if ever there was a case for it, it was this. The girl was shivering violently now, but she was just about able to snatch the cake as it was passed to her, coordinate opening the wrapping and practically inhaling it she ate it so fast. 

She looked up again and her Uncle was back in front of her, with a woollen tunic and a cloak in his hands. 

“Let’s get you warmed up, little one.” He said, smiling at her. Every part of him hated having to strip this girl off by the side of the river, but the fresh, woollen tunic would be useless over the cold, wet clothing. It was a testament to how cold she was that she just let him strip off what remained of her petticoat and put on the huge green tunic. He wished they had the time to stop and tend to her wounds, but they had to move and find shelter fast lest they all succumb to the cold. He wrapped her in the cloak, so big it was he could wrap it twice around her shoulders before he lifted the small girl up. The violence of the shivering abated somewhat, but Faramir worried it was because she’d simply got so cold, she’d stopped shivering. 

“We need shelter. Angrim, your family are from these parts. Have you got any ideas?” 

“The ruins at Ost Sarram are around 6 miles from here, Captain. We stand the best chance of shelter there.” The fell, serious man responded. 

Faramir nodded his assent.  
“Lead on.” He said. 

The rain was falling heavy now, the ground slippery under their feet.


	2. Cold

It took longer than it should have done for the rangers to reach the ruins. But it was cold, wet, and light as she was, the added burden of carrying little Losse made the task significantly more difficult. 

It was pouring with rain when they got there. Sheets and sheets of the stuff, like standing in a waterfall. The corner of what was once a great country house stood as their best shelter, and Faramir deposited his little neice as deeply into the corner as was possible, trying to shield her from the howling wind. 

"We can't rest long," Malbung said, looking concernedly at the little girl, "She'll freeze." He paused. "She won't make it back to Osgilliath either, let alone Minas Tirith." 

Faramir nodded and pursed his lips, looking around at his tired men, thinking. It has been a long few weeks, a long chase. And they had never given up. For the love of Boromir they'd pushed deeper than they'd imagined possible to rescue the stolen girl. Many of them had lost family when Ithillien had been overrun, and to most of these men, this had become about redemption. If they could save just one little life in such unlikely circumstance, then maybe they had stood a chance against the oncoming storm. That was what they'd all been thinking. Faramir was thinking it too. And for little Losse to escape, and stay on the run, by herself for so long- that had taken some courage. Courage not many 10 year olds would have possessed, and courage they should all draw strength from. But she'd pushed her little body so far, that Faramir did wonder if exhaustion would take her. 

"Eat all spare rations-we will make it back tommorow, change your clothes and lets try huddle up. Theres space enough for us all if we stay close. Move out at first light for Henneth Annun. Minimal watch. This weather will long have concealed our tracks and I doubt anyone else is out here." Faramir gave his orders. 

The rangers set to work unrolling bed rolls for insulation from the ground, and fishing out the bits of jerky and preserved fruit cake to get some nutrition and warmth: Changing into their spare tunics as quickly and as quietly as they could. Losse was lightly asleep against the wall, her breathing shallow and laboured, light beads of sweat dripping from her neck. Faramir unrolled his bed roll, picked her up and sat down with her on his lap. Eyes fluttered. 

"Papa?" she said quietly. 

"No mouse, its Uncle Fara... we're taking you home. Try to sleep mouse, you're safe now." 

He pulled his cloak around her as well, hugging her towards his body, and praying to the gods he was no longer sure if he believed in that his little niece would last the night. She was asleep in seconds, but it was the restless sleep of one coming down with an illness. He dried his hand on the inside of his cloak, and put his hand to her head. She was radiating heat now. 

It wasn't long before Faramir drifted off too, having observed his men all silently bed down and the watch get set. He knew his men were more than capable and that he was exhausted from the exertion in the River. 

Morning came around indeterminatley quickly, and it took only a few minutes for the men to be packed up and ready to move out. At least it had stopped raining now, just a heavy morning mist hung over the sky. Faramir had tried to rouse Losse to get his last rations in her, but she was not conscious enough to eat. 

"How is she?" one of his rangers asked him. 

"Tired, Ill." Faramir said sharply. He paused. "Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped" He said after a second. "We're all tired." He said, picking her up. His leg muscles were like jelly. The cold of the river yesterday had really sapped him. 

"Let me take her Captain," said Anborn, holding out his arms. "You're more tired than all of us, you took watch and scout duties, swum the river rescue yesterday, and I know you've slept the least of all of us. Plus, it would do no good for her to pull through to find out her Uncle is fighting some exhaustion induced illnesss."

It didn't take Faramir long to hand over his charge. As they walked further north still, he reflected upon how lucky he'd been to come into this command. A command of noble, honourable men but also men capable of fostering the kind of independent thought and leadership he had always wanted in his command. A group of men capable of both deeds of strength and guile. It had taken a long time for him to embrace the kind of fighting with guile his rangers did on clandestine missions, but in situations like the one they had just been through he had been greatful to all of those who'd mentored him throughout his journey on the selection course.

"She will live," a hand clapped him on the shoulder. Faramir looked into the eyes of his friend and comrade, 2IC Malbung, who continued. "She survived the night, and that was perhaps the most concerning part of this whole venture. The weather is improving, we will make Henneth Annun by the middle of the day. We have medicines and food aplenty. Have hope." 

Faramir paused. The men were pressing ahead, but Malbung knew Faramir, and knew how much he cared about everything and everyone. How given to introspection and self-doubt this man was. Malbung knew how deeply Faramir had dug as they trialed his neice through the wilderness. How deep he had dug to force himself to have hope; he remembered the look of joy on his friends face when they'd first spotted the trail of little feet leading around and around in circles away from the rememnants of her captors camp, and the trail of her captors initially headed off in the wrong direction. When they'd spotted the signs of broken branches, indicating she'd climbed high in the trees when her captors had closed back on her and avoided their gaze. Exhaustion was now clear in Faramirs eyes. It had been a terrible 3 weeks.

"She's so Ill Malbung. She was tiny anyway, but..." 

"Have hope. You know who her father is and who her mother was. Stronger people you and I do not know. She managed to escape. She's almost walked herself all the way back to Gondor." 

Faramir nodded and set his face determined again. 

The both turned to the disappearing figures of their Ranger kin and jogged to catch up. The steady pounding of feet on earth helping Faramir put aside his worries.


	3. The shadow of the valley of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Losse walks through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

When Faramir eventually managed to stumble his way back through the cave to Henneth Annun, he was done. Around 10 minutes behind his Rangers, exhausted by three weeks of pushing himself to the brink for his beloved niece, he had very little left to give. He coughed, Chestily, slowly pondering that the brutally cold River swim at the end of a huge arduous journey may not just finish off Losse, but it might finish off him. He had been feeling steadily worse as theyd trudged back to safety. 

*Get a hold of yourself, Faramir, * he thought to himself. 

"Sir... Captain..." Damrod started, putting a worried hand on the man's shoulder. He was swaying in his exhaustion now.   
"Captain.... Captain..." Damrod put his hands to the mans brow. He was burning unnaturally. "Captain, you need to get changed and sleep". 

"Losse..." 

"Is with the medic Captain, and she needs her Uncle well. Get some sleep, we will wake you up if anything serious changes"

Faramir nodded wearily, seeing sense in his colleagues worry strained face. He stumbled, and nearly fell, before Damrod walked with him back to his bed roll and helped him lie down. Faramir was asleep within moments of hitting the pillow. 

Down at the pools, Anborn and Malbung, both knowing Losse quite well, were with the Medic Baranzir, trying to help him with the delirious child. Her fever was sky high, to the point where the medic had taken one look at her and put her straight in the river, worried about the fever bringing on a fit. Truthfully, Baranzir did not know where to start given the state of the patient in front of him and knowing she was the Captain Generals beloved daughter and the Captains niece. 

"Just do your best," Anborn said quietly, not immune to the state of the girl, but not without hope either, "we are here to help", he said, carefully starting to wash the grime off her face. She moaned feverishly, "saes", "please", "no more", "help" and "mama" being the only words they could understand. 

Baranzir took a deep breath. "She needs to be clean, her wounds will have festered- her feet especially, and then she needs to be dry and in warm clothes. Malbung, if you could find a towel and clothes, myself and Anborn will do our best to clean off the muck we can here". 

And so Anborn sat as he had done a thousand times with his own children, and started to wash the muck and blood from "mouse", heartbroken at the state of his friends funny, sparkling niece. A tear rolled down his face. As he uncovered wound after wound, he remembered back to last summers leave when his own lad had come to the big city to visit. Him and Losse had been running around gaily, bright laughs and childish jokes, sneaking around and missing rations reminding everyone of the Gondor they fought for.


	4. The shadow of the valley of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shadow falls

Shadows danced around the cave that night, fire burning, keeping their sick charges warm. Faramir did not fare too badly, a deep sleep and a light fever that he'd likely burn off in a couple of days. But Losse was sick, really sick. It had taken them an age to get her clean and bandaged. It had sickened them all to the core, seeing the damage the enemy had inflicted upon her. She was dry now at least, dignity and comfort restored as best as possible as she drowned in her Uncles warm tunic. 

The shadows danced on her face, teeth chattering in shivers now, as she breathed heavy and shallow, drowning in her own phlegm. 

"Saes," she muttered, feverishly. 

\-----

She would name it the valley of death, she decided. This cold, nameless dusty place. Ghosts reached out intermittently, brushing past. She was sure she recognised some faces from books in the archive. She wandered aimlessly, gathering what remained of her cloak around her. 

_Odd, she thought. She knew her Uncle had given her clothes, but they were his, not hers. They'd be newer. And too big for her. She'd be tripping over it, she realised._

She called out. 

"Where am I" 

Silence echoed. 

"Is anyone here?" Ghostly feet just pattered past her. 

"Someone?" 

Silence. 

"Anyone?" 

A ghostly white face on a body in front of her. Covered in blood. She gasped, tears falling from her eyes as she reached out to clasp the woman's hand... 

"Mama?" She cried. 

Then a huge tower of darkness appeared in front of the image of her mum. A terrible, armoured face. Beyond the armour, there was only darkness. 

"You thought you escaped? You cunning little girl!" 

She cowered, terrified. 

"This is my land now, the valley of death. You will walk on forever alone! And your father will die and your country burn." 

\------------------

Two days had passed, and while Faramir was better. Weak, but better: Losse had yet to wake. All they had been able to do, was keep her temperature regulated by bathing her in the river or bringing her by the fire as needed. Theyd been able to help some with the phlegm by positioning her on her side, but it hadn't been much. 

Faramir had been beside himself since he'd woken. The weather had been too bad to send for Boromir, and he now had given up all hope his beloved niece would pull through. They'd trekked half across Gondor to find her, the girl had trekked most the way back by herself, yet it still wasnt good enough. He didn't know how he'd face his Brother again, having failed at the one thing Boromir had ever asked personally of him. 

He felt so guilty, and as he looked out to the faces of his men, who'd checked in to sick bay every time they came back from patrol to see if Losse had improved- they all felt it too. The mission had become redemption for them- if they could have saved Losse against such impossible odds, they would have felt as if they had saved the entire world. As it was, theyd pinned all their morale on the girl whose face was shadowed with the tinge of oncoming death. 

She was writhing now, hyperventilating then wracking coughs. 

"Sssh mouse, you're home. You're safe," he soothed her forehead, trying to calm her down. Tears were falling from her eyes as she cried out, hand shooting forward, clasping, 

"MAMA!" She screamed, eyes wide open but not seeing. 

Tears fell down Faramirs eyes, knowing the state they'd found Losses mother in, and knowing Losse had likely witnessed it happen. He gathered his sick niece into his arms, rocking her, hoping at least if she were to pass on, she would somehow know she passed on loved, and with her family. 

The little girl was shivering and shaking. Only the odd word audible- "seas", and "please".  
\---------------- 

Suddenly a more solid figure appeared in the valley. A kindly man, Numenorean, with bright eyes. 

"You will not take this Child," he said, forcefully, striding towards them. "She is a free child, of a free city, in a free land. Your words have no power here." 

"She is MINE!" 

"Come, child," the kind man simply said to her, holding out his hands. 

Solid iron gripped her Shoulder. She looked to the kind man, eyes wide and white with fear. 

"Help me, please!" She begged, tears rolling down her face. 

The kind man drew his sword, fearless. As if by magic, it set on fire, then the towering shadow burned away from her, but as he went the shadow world started to burn too. The kind man just stood there, powerful but calm. 

"How did you do that?" She looked up wide eyed, her breathing slowing for the first time in a while. 

"Easy, little one. There is no one here in this land, but that which your makes for itself." 

The looked at the man, her eyebrows furrowing. 

"This isn't a real place?" 

"All I can tell you is this is a place your mind has a power over. You do not have to stay in this: the valley of the shadow of death little one." 

Another man appeared. An older man, long black hair. An elf perhaps. 

"Estel, you cannot stay. You've overstretched further than you should have already," 

"Dont leave me," the little girl clasped his hand. 

The kind man tapped her head. 

"I won't. I'm always here with you. Fear no evil. There is always hope." 

And with that, the kind man was gone. 

For more than a second, she despaired, tears of sorrow and loneliness falling down her face harder than they ever had when she was running north. Everything hurt, the smoke was making her lungs hurt. The valley was burning now, burning hot. An ember, from what she did not know as there were no trees, landed on her arm. 

His words came back to her. 

_"This is a place your mind has a power over."_

She scrunched her eyes hard and imagined a torrential summer storm in Dol Amroth. 

She opened her eyes as the drip, drip, drip of rain fell on her head. For the first time in weeks, she smiled. This was just another problem to solve.


	5. The path away from the shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new way out of the shadows formed

It took some time for Faramir to notice the deadly fever lessen, and yet longer before he was convinced that it had broken completley: so used were they now to the constant cycle of fever and chill, fever and chill. 

The Medic watched his Captain quietly, as was his way. 

"She is through the worst, my Lord," he said, "But she has not eaten or drunk properly for some days, and she is exhausted I wager. We must hope for the best Sir, but we must prepare for the worst. When the weather improves some, you must send for her Father, my Lord. For even if she survives, and it remains a possibility that she may not, it is some time yet before she will be fit enough to make the journey even to Osgiliath, let alone to Minas Tirith," 

Faramir brushed the sweat sticky hair out of his nieces face. 

"It will be some time, I fear, before our Lord Boromir can see his dear Child again. The weather is now set against us. We have had no news from Osgiliath here for some time now. That means the path is flooded at the least, or taken from us by the enemy. I can't say which of these options I prefer. No, we are here now, until the ice of winter comes with at least drier, if not colder weather. Then such a journey might be possible." 

The medic continued to look doubtful. Doubtful and weary 

"Medic, in this, as in all things, we can only work with the tools available to us. Go and get some rest. You have looked after my dear niece and I well, and we are much improved. To the point, I am well capable of looking over my brothers child myself. And if I need rest, Anborn and Malbung are around and experienced with their own children." 

The medic nodded and left. Losse continued to sleep, deeply.  
Peacefully. It not so gaunt, and damaged by her captors, he would say she looked as if nothing in the world was wrong with her. 

/////// 

So shocked had she been that the storm had come as she asked, that she immediately tried again in her imaginings and was transported to a bright blue sea. A castle looked out. 

Belfalas. 

Grinning, she splashed and splashed in the water. Laughing around, the glimmering sunlight on her skin again. Fresh sea air and waves splashing her face. All seemed hopeful, peaceful and .... 

Quiet. 

So quiet. 

She looked around, intently. It was Belfalas, but silent and empty. 

The market was full of produce, but no sellers could be heard. Ships were somehow sailing, but unmanned. 

Her fathers hearty roar could not be heard. Or her brothers shriek. Or the light sound of her mother singing. 

All that could be heard was silence. A silence so thick, it could be cut and spread like butter. Stirred like custard. 

She tried to think, but she was tired. She couldn't quiet remember what the man had said to her. The man in her dreams. 

"This is a place your mind has a power over. There is no fear in this place, but that which you make for yourself. You can reach the head of the valley, you just need to..." 

_just need to what?_ she thought. 

Then the answer came to her, clear as day. She just needed to imagine herself out of here. Her father had told her once "imagine what you want to be, and it shall be so". So, she screwed her eyes up, gathered her knees to her chest and imagined home. She imagined her fathers hearty laugh, and her grandfathers stern smile. And she imagined her Uncle, and Anborn, and running around the barracks. And she imagined one day she could see ithillien, and gaze upon the forbidden pools: so captivated she always had been by tales of their beauty. 

And she blinked, and she opened her eyes blearily. It took her a second to focus but her Uncles gray eyes stared back at her. She was no longer alone, no longer with enemies. She felt hot tears run down her face, so shocked she was finally safe. Her uncle seized on the opportunity to give her some drink. Water thickened with cornflour to make it easier to swallow. She gulped it down greedily, spoon after spoon, so dry was her throat after the smoke and the fire of her dreams.

"Seas..." she croaked, as the spoon was put down in the empty mug. She was still so thirsty. 

"Soon, little one," her Uncles kind eyes looked at her, "you have had a long journey, and been very sick. You need to pace yourself otherwise you will get sick again. Sush now mouse," he said, stroking her hair in a way so similar to her father that she could of sworn it was him, not her Uncle who was with her. "You're safe. You're home. Brave little mouse," he soothed. And with that she was asleep again. 

Over the next few days her moments of waking were brief, and much the same. They got whatever nutrients they could in her, and gradually the moments of waking became longer and longer. 

But the weather did not improve, and even some 4 weeks later as it was drawing closer to meattre, try as they might, they'd still not managed to get word across the river to Boromir at Osgiliath, or even to Cair Andros that it might be taken to Boromir. They'd been essentially storm bound that whole time, heavy gales and thunderous rain pouring from the sky. Every attempt by his rangers had seen them returned to Henneth Annun, as the Lord Faramir had commanded that none risk their lives needlessly. Although it was not ideal, that Boromir had no knowledge of his daughters survival or even their return from the South, knowledge alone was not worth the risk to life that such a perilous journey as a flooded river crossing might cause. 

So they sat, at dinner, Losse between Faramir and Anborn, the crowd all visible, skittish as she was these days. She was not the bright girl with a constant penchant for mischief that she once had been. She was silent, save at great need, and pensive alot of the time. At night, most nights, she trembled in some grave fear, sometimes screaming out- mostly for her mother, and sometimes silent. In the morning she looked out over the forbidden pool, animal skins wrapped around her and wept silently. A pain was on her face alot of the time, it was clear her wounds hurt her. Only occasionally had they seen a smile. When she had been cajoled into a game of chess in a team against her Uncle and together she and Malbung had just about managed to pull a victory out the bag. 

It was on one morning, a week from meattre that Faramir decided she could no longer be left to hold all her dark feelings in. He sat down next to her, hood up, overlooking the forbidden pool and pulled her into his side, covering her with his cloak. 

"A dark cloud gnaws away at you little one." He said. 

Losse leaned against him. His tunic started to wet with her tears. But Faramir remained silent. He didnt press her. 

"Does Papa hate me?" She finally said, softly, through tears. "Is that why he doesn't come?" 

Faramir looked down, wide eyed at her, in shock. 

"Dear one, no. He could never." He started. 

"Is he dead too then?" She asked. 

"Whatever makes you say that?" He asked. 

Losse sobbed. Sobbed so much that it was difficult to make out what she was saying. But eventually he got it. 

"But he always said to me he'd come. If anyone ever got us, he'd find us wherever we were. And he didn't. I was alone for so long... the Valley of death..." 

Faramir could make out no more. But he cursed himself. Why oh why had he not at least made clear to Losse the reason she was still here. He had expected too much of her. She was not an adult, or a soldier, with a soldiers reasoning. She was a terribly frightened child who just wanted her dear Papa with her. 


	6. Meattre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meattre comes and goes, and the Weather still does not improve.

Faramir sat in the drizzle for some time, his dear Niece tucked under his cloak. When the tears showed no sign of abating, he pulled her onto his lap, as he had done many times when she was younger, and rocked her gently. 

Her sobs gave way to gasps as she struggled to get air in. He could see her starting to panic. 

Faramir took her tiny hand and placed it on his chest, 

"Ssssh mouse, breathe with me..." 

Frightened as she was, she followed the soft command of her Uncle. And her breathing calmed. 

"That wasnt all that haunts you, little one, was it?" He said eventually. 

"I do not wish to speak of it," she said softly. 

"I will not command you, mouse. But it will haunt you all the time you do not speak of it." 

Losse shivered, as if the shadow had taken her again. 

Faramir set the girl aside for a second to stand up, and then picked her up to carry her in. 

"I can walk," she said. 

Her uncle smiled at her, "That does not mean you should be walking little one," he said. "Your feet will never heal otherwise." 

Exhausted as she was, Losse made no further complaint. She let her Uncle tuck her up in the pile of blankets and animal skins next to his bed roll that had become hers, let him pass her some herbal tea and then she started to talk softly. So quiet it was almost difficult to hear around the noise of the caves and the waterfall. 

"We were on our way to see Uncle Theodred... you knew that? Papa was to meet us there after he was done with Osgiliath for the Summer," She looked up and Faramir nodded indicating that he knew this- he of course had originally been scheduled for Osgiliath for Boromirs absence. "Mama was terribly excited, she hadn't seen him since the .... since the...," she halted again. The dark memory flashing across her eyes. 

"Since the birth of your brother?" Faramir filled in gently. 

Losse nodded. 

"We'd made good time, apparently... I had little recollection of the last journey," she said, almost ruefully. "Mama was very keen to push ahead and beat father there," she said. 

She took a heavy breath. 

"We passed the border of Anarion and were set upon almost at once. Men and orcs, and a shadow." She shivered. If she had tears left she would have cried them, but she was so exhausted that she almost believed she could never cry again. 

"The shadow was very terrible, and many lost their minds from its screeching. Mama was calm though. She hid me, and bade me keep my brother quiet while she drew the men and the shadow away."

She took a heavy breath again. 

"I tried Uncle. I really promise I tried, I covered his ears and held him to me, but eventually he cried." 

Tears ran down Faramirs face now as he pulled his niece into him again, letting her carry on talking, halting though it now was...

"They found us almost straight away...the men and those orcs. Mama stopped fighting almost at once... and she bade the men stop too...The shadow just laughed at her," 

Faramir looked down at his niece, and could see she was in some other place now. The tone of her voice had changed. 

"The men had us with knives to our throats. Hama was screaming, the Shadow was laughing and all the while Mama was stood so proud.... I'll never forget what she said ... 'Do as you wish, nothing I say or do now will dissuade you, but whatever action you take here, know that this will spell your end, though it be may be many years from now that you meet it.' The shadow just laughed at her, stood surrounded by them but still tall and proud like a queen. Then he stabbed Hama, and she fell to her knees, like she was a puppet whose strings had been cut. He walked over to her, and gripped her shoulder so tight it must have broken it... and called her fool, and told her that no man can kill him and all in Gondor should submit, as she was now, to the power of his master. She spat in his face and ... " 

She was hyperventilating now. 

"And he beheaded her?" Faramir filled in softly. He had heard as much from his Brother, who had been perhaps a day behind them on the road, and had been the first to come across their bodies. 

Losse nodded softly. 

"Afterwards, the Orcs and the Men asked the Shadow what to do with me. He told them he cared not, for the succession of Gondor was ended and the line of Stewards in ruin. The men took me. They killed what Soldiers of the guard remained standing." 

Losse fell silent. 

"And what then, mouse?" He asked. 

Her voice was suddenly hard. "I do not wish to talk about it, it is very dark." 

She turned away from her Uncle, little sobs taking her again in her shame. 

Faramir turned her back to face him. "I will not force you into talking little one, but you must talk eventually. You must talk to realise that these events were not your fault," 

There it was, he could tell... he'd cut to the heart of the matter almost straight away. 

Losse opened her mouth to protest "But..." 

He shushed her almost immediately. "None could have expected a 10 year old child to keep a babe quiet in the middle of battle little one. Their deaths are not your fault." 

Wide eyes looked into Faramirs deep gray eyes. Wide, disbelieving eyes. 

"Its not your fault mouse." 

She tried to look away again. Faramirs gentle hand turned her back to face him. 

"Its not your fault mouse." He said again. Tears were forming in her eyes again. 

"It not your fault," he said again. 

And she broke, like a storm breaking on the walls of Dol Amroth her body crumbled against her dear Uncle who just pulled her into his lap again and rocked her like she was on a ship. 

She said no more, and eventually fell asleep in her Uncles arms. After some time, when he was sure she would not wake, he put her down in the pile of blankets and skins theyd gathered together as her bed roll. 

He pattered silently away to speak to Malbung, who had just returned. 

"Any news from the road?" He asked softly. 

"Nothing, scouts report the Anduin is out its banks and the boat house at Cair Andros underwater. We'll have no news from Osgiliath or the City until the floods retreat." Malbung said grimly. 

Faramir sighed. "It is lucky we've been stockpiling for some time, we may be faced with Snow soon enough." 

"How is she?" Malbung asked. 

"The shadow weighs heavily on her," Faramir said shakily. "Truthfully I do not know how a child can live through such things. She needs her father here really... and knowing my brother as I do, he needs her with him before he makes some rash decision which we will all regret. " 

"The weather cannot be helped Captain." Malbung commented. 

Faramir sighed. "I know this, but it does not make me stop wishing it were possible to control it." 

Malbung laughed, and clapped his hand to his Captains shoulder. 

"Come, Captain. Let's focus on what we can. The weather at least seems to have stopped the enemy movement through the area. Let's use this time to bring our stockpiles back to here before they're caught by the floods and become inedible. It would not do to have a hungry meattre after all this." 

Faramir nodded, smiling. 

"And those traps we talked about over the summer, we have at least thanks to this weather, been blessed with a reprieve where we should be able to work uninterrupted in this area and this, so that come spring, the enemy will not know what hit him," he said, pointing over a map. 

Malbung nodded.

"I'll see it started Captain," he said. 

Faramir nodded his thanks, and went and sat back with his niece, picking up his pen and diary and finding himself unable to write. He put them down, and picked up a small book. 

The month to Meattre came quickly. Faramir, Anborn, Malbung and Damrod rotated staying with Losse as the others went out on Patrol, recovering rations and setting the long planned traps. Gradually, Losse became less skittish around all of them, but would not tell them even when pressed what had happened after her capture or during her escape. They left off, judging she would tell them in her own time. 

Meattre itself was sombre. Losse was not the only one to have lost family this year, and prior to the flooding theyd planned to keep only a skeleton staffing at Henneth Annun for the Winter Festival. But they made the best of it, a cask of ale had been passed around, songs had been sung and tales told. Most of the men had their own Children, so they'd kept the stories family friendly- tales of dragons and princesses, not of war and battle as they might have told. 

After Meattre, as predicted, the snow came. By some small grace of mercy, this colder weather had finally encouraged Losse to start eating more. It seemed once she started to eat, her body remembered she had been starved for so long, and gradually she began to return to herself again, her wounds healing. She started moving around the caves without pain, and unbidden had started to busy herself with chores around the Caves. She'd straight up ignored her Uncle when he had told her she didnt need to help, and in the end, he had stayed quiet on the subject, judging that she was better kept busy.


	7. After the Storm

The snow seemed to Faramir to go on indefinitely. Perhaps the Valar saw how sore in need of a rest they all were - so hindered were the orcs in such weather. Perhaps it was some hidden work of the enemy, but he doubted that... he had happened upon a large contingent of Haradrim a week prior, half delirious with the Snow. They hadn't the number to engage, just him and a skeleton Patrols had gone out during that weather- so they watched, as their enemy succumbed to the slow sleep of the wilderness. Once all had gone, they moved in and took what prizes remained, food and liquor, weapons and jewels. All were neccessary spoils for the fight. 

The fire in Henneth Annun was kept alight though, and pensive little Losse often sat by it, shadows dancing on her face and perhaps in her heart for all he knew about it. She was coming back to herself, slowly. It seemed the cold had helped her body remember her hunger and some days it had been almost impossible to convince her that she wouldn't be left to starve again. He'd caught her so often in the Stores the first few days, stealing food in with a dark, fey, almost animalistic look to her. At dinner one evening theyd had a pressing issue and hadn't given her as much attention as she'd needed and faced with dinner with those she hadn't known, she had eaten and eaten until she was sick. It was then that theyd come to the conclusion the only sensible thing to do would be to leave Losse with a snack, always, so that she didnt feel the need to steal and gorge, and felt reassured against the hunger that haunted her. 

It was near enough two months now since she had been found, her eleventh birthday had come and gone and still the weather put paid to any plans Faramir had of reuniting Father and Daughter. In a way, looking at her, he was glad. She was still too skittish for a journey as dangerous as through the wilderness of Ithillien, where one must be able to keep quiet at all costs. Night terrors haunted her less since their terrible talk, but still they haunted her and her terrible screaming still woke them on many an occasion. And she was still so pale- although she looked more than sallow skin stretched across bones now. What would be worst of all for her father though, Faramir thought, was the silence. They'd got some smiles out of her, and one laugh at meattre. But the carefree child his Brother and he had left in Minas Tirith seemed for all the world to have been replaced by a solemn ghost. Faramir knew it would take time, but after so great a loss, he did wonder what was recoverable. Some hurts just could not be healed. 

And it concerned Faramir greatly that Losse still did not share the tale after her Mothers death. That she considered the tale darker than even the murder of her kin frightened him. And the thoughts did not stop whirring throughout those months, no matter how much he tried to stop them. 

But life went on as it always did at Henneth Annun. The sun rose, they broke their fast, said their prayers. The patrols went, those making the neccessary alterations to the paths left to their duties, those resting stayed behind with their charge. The little girl helped out as she could. Sometimes she washed the pots after breakfast, then she sat with the Angrim as he stripped arrows, sometimes she practised her letters in a spare notepad Faramir had given her. The sun sank. Sometimes she slept through peacefully, but sometimes still - be it the soft murmur of "no," "please," and "mama" in westron, sindarin or rohirric, or the loud anguished screams, Faramir had many evening sat back to the wall, niece in his arms as if she were his own daughter, wondering what had befallen the Hurin family that they could not even keep their own children safe. 

Gradually though, these nights were coming fewer between and Faramir and his charge were getting better rest. The days after were better when this had happened. Losse ate better, was less skittish and smiled more, even if she did not talk. 

It was one such morning, not two days after the winter storm had finally subsided that Faramir sat at the entrance to the cave watching his dear niece from a distance as she completed the chores she had assigned herself. The month if February had given way to March and three months of terrible weather seemed to be finally giving way to a beautiful spring. 

Faintly, he heard the calls of the sentries as a Ranger returned to outpost. A smile formed on his face. Things were looking up now, he supposed. Theyd waited a day for the storm to be full cleared and the remaining snow melted enough before theyd sent out runners, and the first to Cair Andros, the Second to Osgiliath and the Third to Minas Tirith. Spring was coming and it would have some joy indeed. Dear little Losse could be reunited with her dead Papa.


	8. Home

The day of Boromirs arrival came sooner than Faramir had anticipated, for the outer sentries had in fact been escorting his reprobate brother back. The scout for Osgiliath had found him on the road. 

"She's alive," Faramir said, as they embraced. A smile adorned his Brothers face ear to ear, although he could feel nervousness and anxiety rolling off him. 

"I know..." Boromir said. "Father told me,"... 

Faramir looked quizzically, but Boromir did not elaborate. 

"As are you," Boromir said, uncharacteristically softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner." 

"You manage many things, dear Brother, but the weather is not one of them!" 

Boromir looked down at the forbidden pool and saw what could only have been his daughter watching the fish, captivated. Boromir started, heading towards the path down. 

Faramir put out his arm, stopping him. 

"She is like one war fettered," Faramir started, but the Diranost - the scout coughed, and Baranthir, the Sentry who had escorted his Brother in stood awkwardly. Boromir was rocking side to side, as if a war horse ready to explode. 

"Where are your guards? How many?" Faramir asked him. 

"12. I left them at the hill a league north of the Malbungs' fathers home," Boromir said, distracted and distraught. Only the love he bore his Brother kept him from pushing his Brother away to get to his dear daughter. 

"Baranthir, return to your post," Faramir turned to Diranost, "Take them to the supply cave we emptied for the month before Meattre. Theres space enough there for 12, ensure they are well provisioned then give chase to the healer Baranzir and Malbung, for truly they needs help with our supplies from Minas Tirith." 

Diranost and Baranthir nodded, and left. 

Faramir turned back to his Brother. 

"She was very sick when she came here Brother, and in many ways she still is. We found her in the wild, you know. We didnt so much as rescue her, as she rescued herself. She'd escaped her captors and ran her own way most the way back here. We fished her out the River less than a days hike from here. But she is very changed to the daughter you knew. She does not react well at all to surprises, and she says little. She's skittish and nervous. She has terrors many nights, some of which wake us all with her screams. Sometimes in the day, a sight or sound can put her into a waking dream. I've found her sat in a corner scratching at herself until she bleeds, or when taken by some dark memory she hits her head against the wall until we stop her. She has told me all of the loss of her dear brother and mother, for she saw it all, and it was very terrible. But she has told me nothing of her time after, and I think whatever happened then she rates as worse. Be slow, for her healing will take time, and it may be best for me to tell her of your arrival," 

Boromir sank to his knees as if he had been stabbed, defeated. In a way he had. He had loved his dear wife since the moment they'd laid eyes upon her: when she'd disguised herself as one of the Riders of Rohan and challenged him to a duel when they'd both been 16. Dear Boromir had never done anything by halves, theyd been married two years later and had had Losse the year after that. Boromir had had much practise at being an older sibling, with Faramir and his younger cousins to look after, but he found he loved being a father as much as he had loved life itself. 

Faramirs heart broke for the broken man in front of him. He knelt down and wrapped his brothers strong shoulders in his arms. 

"Peace, my dear Brother, Peace. Nothing you could have done would have prevented this," 

"I should have been there.." Boromir said thickly, struggling to get words out, his grief hitting him again new minted. "I should have been with them," he sobbed, so fresh in his mind the memory of stumbling across the desecrated bodies of his friends in the city guard, finding his dear wife and new baby son dead, their bodies disfigured- the eye of Sauron branded into his baby Son. 

"As one who has heard the full tale, please believe me Brother. You being there would not have changed any outcome. It would have left me hunting dear little Losse across the Wilderness knowing I was bringing her back to raise her myself, and we would be sat here mourning three, not two lights from our family go out." Faramir said, holding his brother too him. 

They sat there for more than a few minutes before Faramir got them up. 

"Come, let me find your mouse," Faramir said, getting up and offering a hand out to his Brother. Boromir took it gladly, dusting himself off and walked through the entrance to the hidden caves. 

He didn't expect to happen upon Losse straight away. Faramir hadn't looked over the wall and seen she'd left the pools. She was sat with Angrim, drinking the herbed tea kept by the entrance when she saw them. 

The first Faramir realised that she was there was a scream, a clatter as a mug fell to the floor, and then the sound of "Not real... not Real... not real" being muttered as Losse hit her hand into her head as hard as she could.


End file.
